


Nine

by Flora (florahart)



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, Mpreg, snapshot of relationship, utter fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 14:31:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florahart/pseuds/Flora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The list of things Clint can't do while heavily pregnant is annoyingly long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nine

**Author's Note:**

> Another kinkmeme prompt, asking for a snapshot of Clint/Coulson pregnant!Clint

The list on the fridge is getting a little bedraggled, what with them being eight months in, because he hasn't had to add anything to it for a while and damn it, he's used to it the way it is.

 _Things Clint Can't Do Right Now_ is at the top, followed by

1\. Sparring that involves throws.  
2\. Sparring that involves kicks to the gut. Or punches. Or headbutts.

Those two are in Phil's hand, and they were initially intended to remind Clint to lay the hell off for a while. Which, he's not good at that, and training restrictions have always pissed him off. Still, he's been pretty good about these rules; it's not like when he's had a shoulder popped back in and it's a matter of pain tolerance. This is way more important, and not about him.

After that, in Clint's handwriting: 

3\. Get anywhere near coffee oh god.  
4\. Consider raw fish in any way do not even ask.  
5\. Apparently, go more than twelve minutes without needing to take a leak.

Phil added to raw fish with a little ^ sign and "or onions" five months ago, although that one had eased off a little finally, thank god. 

Then Phil had put one on sometime in month five:

6\. Eat anything of substance within an hour of bedtime.

Clint had had to make the rule more like 90 minutes, and 'of substance' was vague since some days it meant a piece of fucking toast, which was _completely_ unfair, because he was hungry every goddamn minute except while puking. 

Item seven hadn't come along for a bit, but then all at once all the feet-swelling, back pain, stretch marks, and sore breast tissue had come on in a rush a month or so earlier, and Clint had added to the list again:

7\. Tie his goddamn shoes without a pair of those fucking as-seen-on-TV reaching devices 

(not like that would work; the grip wouldn't be flexible enough. He's not really a sandals kind of guy, but Birkenstocks or barefoot it is for the duration)

At the same time, he'd added,

8\. Actually get comfortable in any reclining position.  
9\. Remember what it means to do a sit-up jesus my stomach is going to be saggier than an old guy's nuts.

Phil had chuckled at that one and dragged him to bed for a thorough blowjob and fingering, the stated point of which was to demonstrate that he didn't have any problem with Clint's appearance and the additional point of which was to demonstrate that in fact he could still pull his upper body up just fine as he clenched everything and came.

Although the baby--Clint didn't want to know the sex and he was pretty sure Phil had threatened unfortunate job assignments for anyone who fucked up the surprise, because there had to be fifteen people at SHIELD medical who knew--the baby had had a vigorous response to the blowjob and all that arching and curling, too.

Phil had put his cheek to Clint's belly and let the kid kick him in the face for a while. Clint had been much too much like jelly to complain about any of it.

And then the list had stayed at nine for a long time--five weeks now--which, that wasn't _so_ bad. He hadn't developed blood sugar issues or any of the other things that were occasional problems for women and slightly more frequent problems for men. Plus, nine was a good number for this sort of thing. Poetic. One thing a month, on average. Not that bad.

But now...

He growled and picked up the pencil.

10\. Do one fucking pushup, awesome, my shoulders are going to go to shit, too.

Phil wrapped his arms around him from behind. "Nothing wrong with your arms."

"I know. Belly's in the way."

Phil chuckled and nuzzled at his neck. "Think I can fix that, if you really want to keep up the routine."

"Yeah?" Clint turned his head for a kiss, grinning broadly.

"You are unhealthily happy about the notion of getting to do pushups," Phil said. He put his phone to his ear. "Hey, Stark. You have any cinder blocks lying around? Or anything else similarly stable and of uniform size?"

He disconnected and turned Clint around in his arms. "Belly's not in the way. Floor is, so we move the floor further away."

Clint nodded. "Don't know why I didn't think of that. Well, no, yes I do. Hey kid, you keep making me lose my damn brain. Stop that."

Phil laughed and pulled him close for a kiss. "It'll come back," he promised, taking the pencil and crossing off item ten. "There."


End file.
